


I Growl When I'm Pleased, and Wag My Tail When I'm Angry

by biscuit_tin



Series: Bragging Rights, and Other Stories [2]
Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Kid Fic, Parenthood, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2019-03-21 21:35:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13749699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biscuit_tin/pseuds/biscuit_tin
Summary: “There has been… a hiccup.”“A hiccup.” She repeated flatly.





	I Growl When I'm Pleased, and Wag My Tail When I'm Angry

# Bragging Rights and Other Stories

## I Growl When I'm Pleased, and Wag My Tail When I'm Angry

It is the Wednesday of the first week of April, and Minerva McGonagall’s gaze shifts from noting the time displayed on the carriage clock in the Headmaster’s office (precisely 3:35 pm) to the Headmaster himself just in time to catch Albus Dumbledore furrowing his brow in mild concern. He is considering a letter in his left hand, fork in his right poised over his cooling Welsh Rarebit. She knows the letter is from Arabella, and has her own suspicions about what has distracted him from their weekly working lunch. Minerva returns to reviewing educational proposals for the next meeting with the Board of Governors, and sips her teacup to keep the small, satisfied smile off her face.  


It is Thursday evening, and the remains of dinner have been banished back into the kitchens in favor of dessert. Minerva is distracted from perusing her evening post when Albus begins tapping one finger absently against the edge of the staff table. She recognizes the nervous gesture for what it is, and notices another letter, this time resting open next to his untouched dish of rhubarb and custard. The house elves have been thoughtful enough to leave her a small glass of sherry in lieu of tonight’s dessert, and Minerva tries not to smirk as she sips at it, and tucks away the photos kindly included in her correspondence to enjoy later.  


Friday morning, Albus forgoes breakfast entirely for the sake of a pressing errand. Minerva does not bother to conceal her smug expression and she cuts in to her toast and grilled tomatoes with something that borders on vicious glee. The students alert enough to catch sight of her expression that morning rush through the rest of the meal and out the doors of the Great Hall, fearful of a pop quiz in her classes. The Headmaster does not return until evening, looking unnerved and dreadful, and she almost, _almost_ , takes pity on the man. One does not gain a Mastery in the arts of her field without cultivating a great deal of patience, however. So she leaves him to stew in it.  


On Saturday, mid-morning, Minerva was just settling at her desk to mark essays from her fourth year students when a visitor knocked on her office door. She called out for them to enter, not glancing up from her perusal to see who had come calling. She didn’t need to look up to know who was stopping by her office.  


“Good morning Albus.” in the silence as Albus gathered himself, Minerva sketched a tidy ‘A-’ in red ink at the top of the parchment and circled it for emphasis. She could be patient a little longer.  


“Minerva, good morning. There is… a rather pressing matter that needs to be addressed, and I am hoping your assistance will, at least, point me in the right direction.”  


Still not looking up, she hummed to indicate she was listening as she circled a large ’T’ at the top of another essay before setting it in the graded stack. The chair he’d seated himself in creaked, as if he was leaning back, and she wondered if Albus had started thoughtfully stroking the beard he’d begun growing out last year.  


“Whatever can be the matter?”  


She _knew_ , of course, exactly what had him dithering in her office, and she only had to wait a moment longer for him to confirm her suspicions with a non answer.  


“As I recall, you were well acquainted with the late Euphemia and Fleamont Potter?”  


The clock chimed eleven on the mantelpiece. Minerva gently set aside her marking quill, and finally looked up at the man sitting across from her - her friend, her employer, her comrade - folded her hands on her desk, and lifted one eyebrow. A small part of her mind was mildly amused that he did not recognize the expression she had adopted as the one she used on her students when they were about to confess to some misdeed. Ah, well.  


“I was, yes.”  


His expression was all grave concern as he continued. “Do you suppose - can you recall if Fleamont had any other surviving family? Any at all? Perhaps they emigrated somewhere in Central Europe?”  


Minerva’s eyes narrowed, but she maintained her position.  


“Why on Earth are you asking me this _now_ , of all times?”  


Albus tapped his long fingers on his lips a moment, and she knew he was trying to think of a way to tell her gently, no desire to make her cross with him, of course - _ridiculous man_. She had been cross with him for _months_.  


“There has been… a hiccup.”  


“A hiccup.” She repeated flatly.  


He sighed. “Harry Potter is no longer with the Dursley’s, nor, I believe, is he anywhere in England. I went yesterday to investigate some concerns when Arabella wrote to me to say she hadn’t seen the child with the family. When I… spoke with Petunia,” here her employer’s face soured a bit, and Minerva could well imagine how _that_ conversation had gone, “she asserted that they were only too happy to let the boy go with his father’s family, where he was actually _wanted_.”  


Minerva allowed the ticking of her clock to fill the silence for thirty seconds before she leaned forward slightly and finally pounced.  


“I believe congratulations are in order, Albus.”  


He blinked back at her, somewhat thrown.  


“I had no idea you’d gained a Mastery in _understatement_ -“  


Albus closed his eyes and leaned his head against the high back of the chair, but did not interrupt.  


“- I shall be sure to have it spelled to your list of accolades in time for the release of the letters this summer. Or - hasn’t Master Flitwick applied for the opening in Charms for next year? We could ask Filius to charm it on, as a test.”  


He opened his eyes and glared balefully at her. “Minerva, I truly did not think -“  


She stood up suddenly, hands pressed flat against the desk and glared furiously back.  


“No -” She hissed, “you _didn’t_ think, did you? I told you. I _told_ you, Albus - I _watched_ those people. _All day long_. I _told_ you what they were like! But did you stop to consider for any length of time my recommendation before leaving Harry there? Did you think I was exaggerating, Albus?”  


“Yes, of _course_ I knew the Potters well - my mother, God keep her, was James’ _godmother_! I spent _holidays_ with them - Good Lord, I taught James how to ride a broom when he was just a wee little thing!”  


“I should have insisted, of course - I should never have allowed you to leave Harry there in the first place, and that will always sit ill with me…” She sniffed as she trailed off, her anger partially spent. Albus was rather grey-faced beneath all that auburn hair, so Minerva sighed and called one of the house elves to bring up a tea service. The young professor poured for both of them and retook her seat. Albus took his cup, looking guilty and wretched, but did not drink it, and she thought that perhaps it was time to put him out of his misery. She blew on her own steaming cup, and smiled a bit wistfully, before speaking.  


“As it happens, Monty _did_ have some family left.”  


Her companion perked up visibly, his eyes sharpening with interest as Minerva opened one desk drawer and retrieved an envelope, from which she extracted two pictures. She passed them over to Albus as she explained.  


“One nephew. Mr. Hughes is the son of Fleamont’s youngest sister - he is a year or so younger than James. They spent the summer months together - he and James were very close as children.”  


The photographs were still shots taken with a muggle camera. The first picture was of baby Harry, wearing a determined little pout as he reached for what appeared to be a floating bottle. Inscribed on the back was the date taken, March 28th, and a short note, _‘already floating objects at 20mo.! - Best, MH.’_  


The second picture was of a young man in blue military trousers and a short coat grinning widely at the camera with Harry in his arms. Harry had the man’s uniform cap in his hands and was cheerfully gumming at the brim.  


Albus stroked the second picture thoughtfully.  


“How remarkable… I’m sure I would have mistaken him for a twin - Amestrian then? The uniform is quite distinctive; Petunia would only tell me that he was someone foreign.” He looked up to ask, “Is he an alchemist, by chance?”  


Minerva shook her head and smiled. “Not at all - he’s not magical. Feodora was a squib. It was easier on her to strike out on her own, make a family elsewhere. Monty always kept in close touch with her though.” The woman’s tone grew rather dry. “Be thankful you never had to teach him - Maes was every bit as much a terror as James Potter was, and he was a good bit sneakier about it too, if you can imagine.”  


Albus chuckled and finally began to sip at his tea. They were silent together for some moments when he cleared his throat and spoke slowly.  


“I should… like to meet Mr. Hughes, if that can be arranged at some point. At his home, of course - just to see how things are settling.”  


Minerva’s eyes began to narrow again.  


“I’m sure you would. What is the real reason?”  


He smiled ruefully at her then. “I really do owe you an apology Minerva.”  


She spared him a small, smug smile. “Yes, you really do.”  


Albus chuckled again. “Well - I admit part of the reason I was less immediately concerned with Arabella’s first letter was that I set some monitors of my own. I tied them to the original protection Lily placed on the boy - they are meant to alert me in the event that the original defensive warding fails, and nothing more. I didn’t want to be intrusive.”  


She lifted one eyebrow. “And let me guess - they didn’t, and point of fact, are behaving as if nothing at all has changed?”  


“Precisely!” He nodded, crossing his legs and balancing his teacup on one knee to better gesture with his hands. “And yesterday when I checked for any disturbances, I found nothing! It is truly astounding - as if the wards were scooped up and carried off to be placed elsewhere. The Dursley’s home appears to never have possessed them at all - not a scrap of residue in the earth is left!”  


Minerva began straightening up her desk as Albus continued on his tangent. She gathered the stacks of essays and locked them away (after nearly ten years of teaching, she no longer bore any faith in her students’ compunction) and stood to fetch her favorite jacket and plaid scarf from her coat closet. Standing at the door, she finally interrupted her erstwhile guest.  


“Well? Are you going to sit there all day speaking theorems at the walls, or are you going to come along?”  


Albus blinked bemusedly back. “Where exactly would we be going?”  


Minerva’s smile was sly. “Well - if nothing else, you owe Mr. Hughes a thank you for providing the subject of your next publication. I wasn’t planning on visiting until after two this afternoon, so if we leave now, you can begin apologizing to me by buying lunch.” Albus nearly overturned his teacup in the effort of disentangling his limbs and extracting himself from the chair. The Headmaster paused in the middle of straightening his waistcoat and dusting down his trousers, though, when a sudden thought occurred to him.  


“Minerva, dear? Do you have any idea how Mr. Hughes knew where to find Harry Potter?”  


Minerva’s smile grew positively wicked. “Funny you should ask - I took it upon myself to write to him, when I realized that there was no one left to inform Mr. Hughes of the circumstances of his family.” She doused the lights in her office.  


“Ah. Well then. To lunch, I suppose?”  


Had Minerva McGonagall been transformed then, she would have purred in satisfaction.  


**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own part or parcel of Fullmetal Alchemist or Harry Potter, or any of their affiliated companies. 
> 
> The title comes from 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking Glass'.
> 
> Though not explicitly stated in this fic, Bragging Rights is going to take place years earlier in HP canon (and later in FMA canon), around the late 1950's to early 1960's. The fault of this lies entirely at the feet of user [kayliemalinza](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayliemalinza), who had the absolute gall to utter "But can you imagine Roy interacting with a young Dumbledore?" in the car one night. She knows exactly what she did. 
> 
> Please read and review.


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